


More Christmas Miracles.

by ylc



Series: Christmas is a season for miracles [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, But Not Very Angsty, Getting Back Together, M/M, Mystrade Advent Calendar 2017, side johnlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 13:55:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13078290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: Christmas is, after all, a time for forgiveness.Technically a sequel forChristmas Miracles (of sorts)although I don’t think you really need to have read the first one to understand this one;)





	More Christmas Miracles.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is technically a sequel for Christmas Miracles (of sorts) although I don’t think you really need to have read the first one to understand this one (although I encourage you to do so, of course) ;)  
> A special thanks to egmon73 and Mottlemoth, who kindly gave me another spot on the Mystrade Advent Calendar. Another very special thanks to the lovely EilidhOg for proofreading once more and putting up with my inability to handle technology :P Also thank you to all the people on tumblr who encouraged me to write the sequel, even if I said it was going to be slightly angsty (but it ends well, I swear!)  
> Enjoy!

_ Bigger and better things indeed _ , Mycroft thinks morosely as he watches the snow fall outside the window.

He’s back in the small cafe where he used to buy breakfast for his boss and coworkers not even 5 years ago. The place looks pretty much the same; unlike Mycroft, the place doesn’t seem to have changed at all.

But he has. He has moved onto bigger and better things, just as he always knew he would. There’s no denying the thought brings him some joy, even if it also reminds him of all he has sacrificed to get where he is, including…

Well. Better not to think about that.

But as he looks around the nearly empty cafe, he can’t stop his thoughts from wandering towards the man he met in this same place and who he hasn’t seen in a little over a year. It hasn’t been that long, truly , and so the wound is yet to heal, but he’s confident it will: people don’t die of heartache, and he assumes this despair he feels can’t cling onto him for much longer without killing him, so one can safely infer the worst of it will pass soon enough.

He picks up his coffee cup and takes a long sip, trying to warm himself up, with little success. The coldness he feels has little to do with the weather and more to do with loneliness. Going inside the cafe was probably a bad idea: indulging in sentimentality has never worked out for him, but he has yet to learn that lesson, apparently.

With a sigh, he turns to stare outside the window once more. It’s Christmas Eve and here he is, all alone once again. A part of him had always known that this is how his Christmas es  were doomed to be spent: on his own, miserable and full of longing for the things he’s not meant to have.

But 5 years ago… 5 years ago he had dared to think differently. He still remembers the awkward conversation he and Gregory had while sitting  in this same spot and his even more awkward proposal of going back to his flat. The night had ended up quite predictably, with them wrapped around each other naked, but while he had been inclined to write the whole incident as a one off, Gregory had proven to be…  _ difficult  _ to shake off.

Not that Mycroft had tried too hard, truth to be told. The man was entirely too handsome for his own good and despite what he might prefer to make people believe, he’s not made of stone.

It had been a marvelous Christmas and the year that followed had been even more marvelous. With great trepidation he had invited Gregory over to his parent’s house during their second Christmas and it had gone as horribly as he had imagined, with one exception: his parents hadn’t convinced his boyfriend he was wasting his time with Mycroft. On the contrary, Gregory had spent the next week reassuring him of his love and telling him over and over how wrong his parents were.

By then Mycroft knew for sure he was head over heels in love with the man and could hardly picture his life without him.

On their third Christmas, they had gone to Gregory’s house. Mrs. Lestrade was a charming woman and incredibly supportive of all her son’s choices. Mycroft, used to his own parents cold disdain and constant disapproval, hadn’t quite know how to act around her, although Gregory had assured him his mother had liked him very much.

Christmas last year had been… difficult. He had spent the night before getting as drunk as he could, ignoring his brother’s increasingly worried calls. Sherlock had finally showed up at some point in the wee hours of the morning, dragging his own boyfriend after him and had helped to nurse the  worst  of Mycroft’s hangover. Their relationship had been… strained ever since Mycroft left for college, but Sherlock had taken a shine almost immediately on Gregory (although he would never admit it) and that had helped to repair their relationship a great deal. He understood just how difficult the whole thing was on Mycroft and he had been…  _ supportive _ , to an extent.

He leans back on his seat, toying with his now empty coffee cup. He had considered going to his brother’s for the night, mostly because he didn’t want to be alone, but had decided against it, considering it unfair: this is the last Christmas before John gets sent overseas and so they could probably benefit from some alone time.

And so instead he had ended up in this small cafe, haunted by the ghosts of past Christmases, wondering whatever he did wrong. But then, he knows perfectly well where he erred and maybe that’s what is really stopping him from moving on: it was all his fault and, the worst part is, it would have been so easy to fix his mistake, if only…

Too bad it’s a little too late for regrets.

* * *

 

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Mycroft’s heart stops in his chest at the sound of the very familiar voice. He looks up immediately to find himself face to face with the subject of his depressing musings. He quickly takes in all the changes this last year has brought upon his ex lover and his heart constricts painfully inside his chest at the reminder of how long it’s been since they saw each other.

“I see congratulations are in order,” he states, proud of himself for keeping his voice from shaking. Gregory huffs, not exactly amused and against all odds drops himself on the seat in front of Mycroft.

“Thank you, I suppose. Considering the hours I’ve been working… At least I got a promotion out of it,” he smiles self deprecatingly, gesturing vaguely. Mycroft isn’t sure what to say to that: his own crazy hours had been a constant source of tension between them, although Gregory had dealt with them considerably well. By the end of their relationship though, Mycroft was barely ever at home and that added to his tendency to always put his career first…

Well. It was inevitable, really.

They sit in silence for a long while, Mycroft desperately searching for something to say and coming up blank. There was a time when conversation flowed easily between them, but that seems like a lifetime ago. It reminds him of their very early days, when they barely knew each other and so they were terribly cautious around one another, although back then they could distract themselves of that awkwardness by kissing.

Gregory squirms uncomfortably on his seat and Mycroft is torn between wanting him to stay and the relief he’d feel if he was to leave. It’s true he has missed him more than he could ever hope to appropriately convey, but this… emotional distance is a hundred times worse than the physical one.

“Listen, I-” Gregory begins and then interrupts himself by biting his lip harshly. Mycroft finds himself tensing immediately, bracing himself for yet another goodbye, telling himself it’s for the best. His companion seems to be debating something quietly with himself, evidently torn between his options and finally nods to himself, having come to a decision. “I… I was actually heading to Sherlock’s. He and John are having a small reunion with some friends of John ’s and they  said I could come, so I thought… well.” He shrugs helplessly, avoiding Mycroft’s eye. “I don’t think anyone should be alone on Christmas Eve.”

Mycroft doesn’t dare to speak, unsure of what he can possibly say. His ex boyfriend stares at him for a beat before nodding once more, standing up in one abrupt swift motion. “So. Are you coming?” he asks, offering his hand to pull Mycroft up and he finds himself staring at it unbelievingly. “Mycroft?”

“Yes.” The word leaves him without any conscious thought and he grabs the other man’s hand, gripping it perhaps a  bit too tightly, refusing to let go even when he’s standing up already. “Yes, I’ll come.”

Reluctantly, he lets go of his companion’s hand and the disappointed look on Gregory’s face gives him hope.

Maybe it’s not too late after all.

* * *

 

The “reunion” at his brother’s flat is a surprisingly quiet, pleasant one. By the time he and Gregory arrive, there are just a couple of friends of John ’s  still around. John is quite surprised to find him there, especially since he arrived with Gregory, but he doesn’t comment. Sherlock merely looks at them, raises a sardonic eyebrow and carries on as if nothing had happened.

Mycroft sits on the couch, sipping his wine and trying not to wince at its horrible taste. His brother never learned to appreciate good wine and John’s friends evidently have no taste at all, but he thinks it might be rude to point it out. From the corner of his eye he watches Gregory chat with a pretty redheaded woman and does his very best to ignore his rising jealousy.

“You’ll be relieved to know,” Sherlock says, dropping himself on the couch next to him , “that Molly is happily engaged.” He smirks when Mycroft scowls and shakes his head amusedly. “Just how exactly did you manage to run into each other?” he asks, “It’s not like you frequent the same places. Not anymore, in any case.”

Mycroft sighs, staring at his half full glass mournfully. “I was at the cafe where we met. He… I don’t know what he was doing there. Didn’t ask.”

Sherlock watches him in silence for a beat, before nodding once. “Well then. What are you going to do now?”

Mycroft shrugs non committedly, since he honestly doesn’t know. His brother scoffs, standing up abruptly and heading towards the kitchen, leaving Mycroft to his dark musings.

He does want to do something.

He’s just not sure what.

* * *

 

“I must say you’re handling things rather well,” Mycroft comments off handedly much later, while he helps his brother clean up after everyone has left. John and Gregory are merrily chatting away in the living room, both too drunk to be any help. 

“Whatever  do  you mean?” Sherlock asks, uncaringly dropping a bunch of plates  in the sink. Mycroft winces at the noise, but thankfully nothing breaks. 

“I meant…” Mycroft begins, wondering how to appropriately phrase his thoughts. His relationship with Sherlock is better now, but he still feels like he’s walking on eggshells when talking to him. “John is leaving in a couple of months. That must be… hard on you.”

Sherlock huffs, pushing his hair away from him face. “Understatement of the century,” he says, starting to wash the dishes rather violently. “But… I always knew there was a chance that could happen and… he actually  _ wants  _ to go.  Civic duty or some nonsense. I don’t know, I wasn’t really paying attention. Couldn’t afford to.”

Mycroft nods sympathetically, resting a hand on his brother’s shoulder and squeezing it in silent support. Sherlock sighs, continuing with his chore without looking at him. “I don’t want him to go,” he confesses quietly, “but as Lestrade told me, you can’t hold back the people you love or you’ll end up losing them. He’d know about that, I suppose.”

Mycroft blinks, wondering what does that mean. “Sherlock-”

“I think- I personally think you were the one at fault and I believe you think that too, but Lestrade seems to have a much different opinion. I don’t know which one of you is right, but I thought I’d better not risk it anyway.”

That- that doesn’t make any sense. Mycroft blinks once more, uncertain, and his brother rolls his eyes dramatically. Before either of them can say anything though, a loud  thud coming from the living room followed by a pained yell, has them both springing in that direction.

“What the-?”Sherlock begins, dropping himself at his boyfriend’s side, who is clutching his foot while making exaggerated pained noises. Gregory is sitting on the floor too, looking somewhere between concerned and amused.

Sherlock sighs, picking his boyfriend up and murmuring something against his ear, which makes John laugh loudly. Sherlock sighs once more before proceeding to drag the very drunk doctor towards their bedroom, leaving Mycroft and Gregory on their own.

“Well, I guess that’s our cue,” Gregory announces rather loudly, struggling to stand up and so Mycroft rushes to help. “Don’t think these old legs can carry me all the way back home.”

Mycroft resists the urge to question Gregory’s current living situation (they had moved in together just a couple of months before everything went to hell and when it did… well, Gregory insisted on being the one to leave) and instead does something far more foolish.

“Perhaps it’d be better if you weren’t on your own tonight. You’re quite… drunk.”

Gregory huffs, his breath warm and pleasant against Mycroft’s neck and just when  had  he  come to stand so close? “Who I’m gonna stay with then? Not gonna repeat the mistake of staying here for the night. Your brother is incredibly loud.”

There are things no older brother wants to know about their siblings and Mycroft can’t help his pained expression. Gregory chuckles, throwing an arm around his shoulders compationably. “I’ll be fine,” Gregory assures him, but he’s swaying on his feet and so Mycroft is far from reassured. “I’d appreciate a ride home, though.”

Mycroft bites his lip to stop himself from protesting and voicing his foolish thoughts. He nods, gesturing for Gregory to go first and promptly changes his mind when the other man nearly tumbles down the stairs, hurrying to catch him, wrapping an arm around his waist as he helps him walk downstairs.

What a night.

* * *

 

In the end, Gregory seems to be having trouble remembering his address and so Mycroft offers to have him stay the night at his own flat instead. He feels awfully guilty about it, because Gregory is evidently too drunk to consent to anything, but he consoles himself with thoughts of it being for his own good.

“What did you  mean by that?” he asks a few minutes later and Gregory makes a confused noise that makes Mycroft reconsider his question. Now is probably not the time to be asking these questions, but at the same time- “ W hen you told Sherlock you can’t hold back the people you love or you’ll end up losing then; what did you mean?”

“Ah,” Gregory says, staring at the ceiling  and Mycroft isn’t sure if it’s his way of avoiding looking at him or avoiding getting nauseous. “Exactly that.” He looks at Mycroft and then quickly turns to stare at the ceiling once more. Nauseous, then. “I… Maybe I’m wrong, but I think that if I had been more understanding-”

“Gregory, you were… I… I was the one who-”

“No, no,” his companion argues, shaking his head vehemently. “I- oh god. Stop the car.” Mycroft does, but it’s a little too late for both Gregory’s suit and his car’s upholstery.

Well. He definitely didn’t imagine his night going like this.

* * *

 

Much needed conversations will have to wait for the next morning, since Gregory is definitely in no state to be talking at all. 

There’s one problem he failed to contemplate when he offered Gregory to  let stay the night: sleeping arrangements. The flat is somewhat small, but he does have a guest room, except… well…

When Gregory first moved out, Mycroft couldn’t stand the thought of sleeping on their bed alone, so he had sort of moved into the guest bedroom. He finds himself reluctant to confess this to his ex boyfriend and so he lets him stay there, while he heads into their old room, which has remained pretty much untouched ever since that  fated night.

Mycroft has someone clean the flat every third day, so the room is spotless: the bedsheets have been changed, the room aired and every piece of furniture dusted, but he can swear he can still catch a  whiff of Gregory’s scent on the pillow and that makes sleeping a special kind of torture, particularly when he knows the other man is actually just a few feet away.

God, when did his life turn into this?

* * *

 

“I… I think I should go,” Gregory announces when he steps into Mycroft’s kitchen the next morning and his heart promptly plummets to his feet. He shouldn’t have expected any other outcome, that’s true, but he had been hoping-

“Alright,” Mycroft murmurs dejectedly, not turning to face the other man and instead stubbornly staring outside the window. It’s a cold morning and the weather forecast announced it’ll snow later, but he supposes that if Gregory leaves now, he’ll be home long before that.

“I… Listen, about last night, I… I’m sorry,” Gregory finishes lamely and from the corner of his eye Mycroft catches sight of his pained expression. “I didn’t… I probably shouldn’t have drank that much. I’ll pay for the cleaning-”

“There’s no need for that,” Mycroft argues, his anger raising suddenly. He couldn’t care less about that, but- “It’s fine,” he hisses through clenched teeth, trying to get his anger back under control.

“Mycroft, I-” Gregory starts once more and Mycroft can tell he’s now standing right behind him. He reaches for him and Mycroft steps back, unsure of what he’ll do if the other man touches him. “I’ve missed you,” he confesses miserably and Mycroft turns around to face him sharply.

“I… you… why would you say that?” He’s angry and confused and unsure how to react. He can feel his hopes  rising once more and yet he can’t help thinking he’ll be disappointed.

“I don’t… I don’t really remember much about last night,” Gregory says quietly. “Other than having thrown up in your car, that is,” he adds with a self deprecating smile. “But I think… you asked me about something I told Sherlock.” Mycroft nods tightly, holding himself very still, barely daring to breath. “I realize… I realize I made a mistake. And I-”

“You didn’t,” Mycroft interrupts immediately, this time he being the one to reach out. “If anyone is at fault here, it’s definitely me. I shouldn’t have… I should have been paying more attention to you. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me and I-”

“No, no, listen. I… I just… I was so frustrated. And I felt… I thought… god, when I think back on all those horrible things I said to you…”

“Gregory-”

“I knew- I knew your career was important to you. And I… considering all the crazy hours I sometimes pulled myself, I had no right-”

“But you were right-”

“No, I wasn’t!” Gregory exclaims rather loudly, startling Mycroft. “I wasn’t,” he repeats dejectedly and Mycroft’s heart breaks at the obvious pain in his tone.

“I think,” Mycroft murmurs after a brief silence, taking Gregory’s hands in his. “We both made mistakes. But perhaps- if you’re willing, of course- perhaps we could give it another try?” he suggests, his tone betraying his hopefulness and he cringes inwardly at his own eagerness.

“I… I’d love that,” Gregory murmurs back, staring at their joined hands. “It’s… it’s been a very difficult year,” he confesses, now staring right into Mycroft’s eyes. “The reason why I was at the cafe last night… I couldn’t… I just wanted…”

“Me too,” Mycroft says, because he does know what Gregory means. They share a small shy smile, before he allows himself to wrap his arms around his no-longer-ex boyfriend.

And he knows it’s not going to be easy and there’s much to talk  about  and discuss, and many compromises to be made but for now… for now this is more than enough. For now, he’s more than happy to bask in his boyfriend’s warmth and hope for a brighter future.

Christmas is, after all, a time for miracles.

**Author's Note:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I like writing angst. It’s really all I can say in my defense :P But I do prefer happy endings, so… there. It’s more hopeful than happy, I think, but surely it works well enough?  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!


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